


the color of blood

by kingandqueeninthenorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1920's, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingandqueeninthenorth/pseuds/kingandqueeninthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1920's. Prohibition era AU. Robb and Jon are rum runners, selling to the Baratheons. Robb and Sansa get a little caught up in the wild side, venturing into taboo territory. All the while, they must avoid the law - Petyr Baelish - and the Lannisters, their competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. flowers for the ghost

On January 17th, 1920, two very important things happened: Ned Stark died and the United States went dry.

Robb Stark was more concerned with the former, as all the funeral planning had fallen on him. He didn’t expect his mother to choose flowers or a casket when she could scarcely stand from her bed. Instead, he asked his little sister to accompany him, as he knew little about funerals and even less about flowers.

Sandor Clegane, the funeral director at the first and only funeral home in Detroit, was a large, rather frightening man. His face was scarred on one side, giving him a grotesque, terrifying appearance, and he was gruff in speech with a lumbering walk. He looked like a real gravedigger, Robb thought, so his profession certainly suited him well. Death seemed to agree with him, though the flower arrangements did not, according to Sansa.

First, he brought out a sample arrangement of white daisies, which Sansa vetoed immediately without explanation. The director grunted, but walked away with a nod of acceptance. When Sansa saw the look on Robb’s face, she said, “They remind me too much of a funeral.”

Robb pursed his lips, unsure if he should remind her that it _was_ in fact a funeral.

As though she could read his mind, she said, “I know that it _is_ a funeral, but our father deserves better than these cheap white arrangements you see everywhere. This isn’t just any funeral.”

He thought the whole thing was silly, truthfully. His father had never been one for flowers, and he didn’t expect that he would appreciate them any more in death. Still, Robb stood dutifully by Sansa as she studied all the different flower assortments brought before her. She had an eye for such things, and Robb trusted to her judgement. He certainly didn’t know any better.

When Sandor returned, he was holding an assortment of lilies and tulips, all in white. Robb could’ve laughed at the sight of such a burly man holding a bouquet so delicately. He couldn’t picture his massive hands putting together any sort of floral arrangement.

“I don’t want white,” Sansa said, waving him off again. “Off white, perhaps. Do you have anything cream colored?”

“You’re very opinionated,” he muttered, eyeing his sister.

“And why shouldn’t I be?”

The great man only huffed in response before disappearing with his failed arrangement.

“I know what I want,” Sansa said to Robb. “And it will be grand.”

Robb couldn’t help but wonder if he should reel her in a bit, though it felt wrong to put a spending limit on a funeral. He knew it would be expensive, though he didn’t have any idea _how_ expensive. He didn’t know anything about funeral home services, and there had only been one morgue to pick from in Detroit. The _Clegane Funeral Home_ could charge damn near anything they wanted with no competition in the area, and there would be no one who could argue.

 Robb couldn’t be certain the whole affair would be reasonably priced, but he wanted to do it for his family.  He was hoping that they may have some true, thorough goodbye before they buried the most important man that any of them had known. It was the only thing he could do to make things right, especially after everything else had gone so terribly wrong.

 _It was so sudden,_ Robb thought. But it had happened all the same. It was senseless, without logic or reason. It had just happened and he knew he must accept it instead of trying to assign some sort of cause to it. _It was just life happening, as it does._

“Is Jon coming?” Sansa asked, turning to Robb and calling him out of his thoughts.

Robb nodded distractedly. “Yes, just in time for the funeral.”

Sansa nodded somberly, tightening the grip between her folded hands. She seemed to be clinging on to herself, just trying to hold it all together. When her hands weren’t together, they fluttered nervously, running along her arms and fussing with her hair. Her eyes were hazy, fresh out of tears. Her skin was the color of milk, without the usual touch of lively rosiness in her cheeks. Instead, there were dark hollows beneath her eyes; great shadows had taken refuge beneath his sister’s lashes. She looked ghostly in her grief. It was haunting.

However lifeless she appeared, she was beautiful all the same. Robb had seen the funeral director take notice when they had arrived, which had irritated him for some stupid reason. She was grieving and still, some stranger was leering at her. He would’ve taken them somewhere else, had there been anywhere else to go. But there wasn’t, and so he was stuck eyeballing Sandor Clegane, waiting for him to try something on his little sister.

The next bouquet didn’t appear to offend Sansa nearly as much. She took it from the big man’s hands, turning it over in her palms to study it from all angles. It looked like orchids and daisies to Robb, but he wasn’t certain. The color wasn’t a true white as the others had been before. It was richer, less pure, and creamier in color.

Finally, Sansa nodded. For all the effort she had put forth, he had expected her to at least look pleased, but she didn’t. “This will do.”

Sandor almost smiled, but Robb suspected that if he _had,_ his face might’ve broken right in two. His eyes lingered on Sansa, who wasn’t paying a bit of attention to him. Robb didn’t like him, and he liked the look on his face even less. While he wasn’t overly expressive, Robb knew what he was thinking. He took Sansa by the elbow, leading her away from him.

“We’ll see the caskets now,” Robb said curtly.

Sandor took the cue, going ahead of them through the doorway and down a hall, into another room. Sansa let Robb lead her, following obediently the way she used to follow him when they were younger. She had always been there, right at his heels, squealing and shrieking if he ever left her too far behind. She wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest separation. That had changed in later years, with Sansa finding her own way. She had grown up, and in some ways, grown _away_ from him. It was just the way of things, as they were a sister and a brother. They had their differences, and had become individuals in their own regard. He didn’t begrudge her of that, though he missed that certain closeness they had once shared.

But somehow, in times of trouble, she seemed to slip right back into that little sister role, like she had never even grown out of it to begin with.

Robb allowed Sandor to walk them through the room full of caskets, speaking at length about each of them. He made notes of the different types of wood, the sturdiness, and the detailing, all the while watching Sansa with a certain gaze that Robb did not appreciate. Sansa was numb to it, or so it appeared, with her glassy, empty expression. She nodded and spoke occasionally, asking questions here and there.

She had seemed more engaged with the flowers. Robb didn’t know if it was fatigue or disinterest, but Sansa appeared to be slipping further and further within herself. She was shifting her weight from one heel to the other, swaying in place when Sandor would give an overview of a certain casket. Her eyelids drooped, looking heavier and heavier.

Robb touched Sansa’s back, right between her shoulder blades. “You could sit, Sansa. I can handle this.”

She looked up at him, her eyes a little unsure. But once she glanced to the corner of the room and saw the plush chair there, he could tell she had been won over. “I might just sit, if only for a moment.”

“Rest,” Robb urged.

He watched her retreat to the corner, dropping down into the chair as though she were heavy as lead. Robb stayed where he was, trying to ignore the way Sandor’s eyes occasionally found Sansa over his shoulder. He would’ve liked to throttle the man, but he thought he might die if he even tried. It wouldn’t do any good anyway, because as long as Sansa was alive and as long as she was beautiful, there would be thousands of unwelcome eyes all over her.

Robb eventually chose something heavy and reliable, like he thought his father would like. It was just a casket, but it was their father’s casket, and nothing felt quite good enough.

When it was time to leave, Robb practically had to lift Sansa from her chair. She had fallen asleep while Robb was listening to Sandor drone on. He heard her snoring softly as he tried to decide what was fit for their father. Sandor laughed at the sound of her, but what he didn’t realize was that the sound of his rumbling voice had probably put his sister to sleep. Robb shot him a look and that was the end of that, anyway.

Robb wrapped his arm around Sansa, keeping a tight grip so as to support her weight as they walked back home. She still had that sleepy, groggy look to her and Robb thought that at that point, she might’ve been able to sleep standing up. The way she acted, she probably hadn’t slept since the day their father passed.

Just as they were making their way towards their house, up their own sidewalk, Robb saw a car coming. It was slowing down, as though to stop. He recognized it then as the Ford coupe Jon drove. Then suddenly, their front door was flying open, and it was Arya that ran to meet it. She was like a speeding bullet, launching herself down the porch steps and running down the path out of their yard before shooting through the gate, her short haircut bouncing.

She had always liked Jon. He was amused by her boyishness and had enjoyed teaching her to throw a real punch when he had visited after he moved out with his mother. He taught her the boxing moves he had learned at her age and mussed up her hair when they were through, smiling at her like his own sister.

Robb would always laugh when Sansa scolded Jon for it.

He watched Arya leap into their cousin’s arms from their spot on the sidewalk. It was the first bit of brightness he had seen from Arya in a very long time. She smiled enough for it to touch her eyes. Jon stuck a hand in Arya’s hair, screwing it up even more. Arya had insisted on the close crop, just below her ears. Catelyn had been skeptical of it, with the bluntly chopped bangs and Arya’s tendency to just leave her hair as it was when she woke up in the morning, but she eventually relented. It suited her well.

Sansa straightened but leaned against Robb still. “This will be good for Arya.”

Robb hoped she was right. Arya needed some good, but then again, so did everyone. To see Arya’s smile was a start, at the very least, to making things better. He hoped desperately for a return to normalcy, eventually, if it were possible.

“Starks!” Jon shouted at them, waving. Arya was climbing off of him, smiling in adoration. “Let me in, why don’t you?”

The next few days were somber, to say the least. Everything about them seemed dim and muted. Ned Stark died on a sunny Saturday, and then the following Sunday brought a darkness that did not seem to let up. Clouds gathered overheard in the early morning, bringing sporadic, sprinkling rain showers as the day wore on. Three days passed before it was time to bury his father, and by then, Robb had seen enough of the rain. Even so, clouds were heavy overhead as his entire family prepared to lay Ned Stark to rest. They all dressed in black and hardly a word was spoken between any of them.

Robb helped Bran with his tie, pretending not to hear his mother sobbing through the thin walls of her bedroom.

When Robb finished with Bran, he moved to Rickon, who he found with Sansa. She was kneeling before him, straightening his hair with a comb. She was biting her lip to hold back her tears. Her hands were shaking a little, from what Robb could see. She made careful movements over their youngest brother, her fingers easy and gentle. Rickon was watching Sansa’s expression with big eyes, reaching for her when she pulled away. He wrapped his arms about her neck, squeezing her with his little arms.

“It’s okay, Sansa,” Rickon said softly.

She cried then, a full sob erupting from her throat. She wrapped a thin arm around Rickon, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. Robb looked away from them, feeling like he was both too far and too close at the same time. It felt strangely intrusive to walk in on such an emotional display, but he also felt as though he should join them in their grief.

 _Be strong, like father,_ Robb thought. That required the right combination of distance and involvement that Robb still had little to no understanding of. His father was not one to cry, but he wouldn’t have left them to their grief either. If Robb had just been a brother, he probably would’ve cried too, but he was the man of the house now, and an entirely new sort of conduct was required of him.

He went to Sansa then, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze from above. She looked up at him with bleary eyes, her tear stained hand finding his as it sat on her shoulder. She gave him a pat before releasing Rickon and standing, wiping at her eyes again.

“I’ll be better at the funeral,” she promised.

Robb heard someone behind them in the doorway and turned to see Jon standing there, crisp in his black suit. He looked a little stiff, as though he had walked in on something. “Should we get going?” he asked.

The whole family in black could’ve been a miniature funeral procession on their own. They made their way to the cemetery all at once, half in Jon’s coupe and the other half in Robb’s Cadillac, arriving together at their family plot. The turnout for the burial was large, which was comforting; Robb recognized most if not all of the faces. Ned Stark was an important man, even in death.

Robert Baratheon was the first to descend upon the family. The big, burly man had been Ned Stark’s best friend and a friend to the family for as long as Robb could remember.

“I’ve never needed a drink so badly in my life,” he said as he gave Robb a firm slap on the back. “Just my luck, with this prohibition.”

A year prior, the Eighteenth Amendment was approved and added to the Constitution, banning all intoxicating liquor. It was not to be produced, imported, transported, or sold anywhere within the U.S. It was pushed forward by temperance groups, Protestants, and progressives, seeking to instill a better sense of morality into the American people. Robb had never concerned himself much with the morals of the public. He had few thoughts beyond his family. And now, with his father dead, he expected he would have _no_ thoughts beyond his family. There wouldn’t be time.

But Robert Baratheon was a bit of a drunk, and on occasion, a brute. Robb couldn’t imagine that his father’s friend was adjusting well to the dry state of things. Robb couldn’t even imagine a world where Robert didn’t smell faintly of hard liquor.

“I won’t spew condolences. Your father was a great man and you know that and I know that and everyone here knows that…”

Robb heard most of Robert’s words as though they were standing underwater. The words were muffled to him and he felt far away. Over Robert’s shoulder, Robb could see Margaery Tyrell pulling Sansa into her delicate embrace. Sansa was crying already, cheeks flushed and nose running. She was nodding at Margaery’s condolences, looking down at her hands as she twisted them together.

Robb’s stomach flipped in an uncertain way.

“…This isn’t easy for me, either. I could use a drink, as I said. I don’t know how I’ll get through the day without one.”

“I’m sure there’s something alcoholic to be had _somewhere_ ,” Jon said from beside Robb. He could hear in his cousin’s voice that he had heard enough of liquor for the day. Jon had never been terribly fond of Baratheon, Robb knew. He had always thought he was a bit too dependent on the sauce. It would seem he had even less patience for it with Ned Stark dead. Robb felt similarly, though he certainly wasn’t about to pick a fight with a man who looked well suited to a war hammer.

“Jon, my boy, you are right. And I intend to find it.”

Robb couldn’t even think of where he would begin to look.

When Robert walked away, Jon grabbed Robb by the shoulder and turned to face him. “I don’t have any love for the man, but I think he has the right idea.”

“Are you actually speaking positively of Robert Baratheon?”

“There _is_ liquor to be had somewhere, Robb.”

Though Jon had spent most of his time with Arya since his arrival, he had also spent a fair time with Robb, looking over Ned’s finances. The deeper Robb delved into his father’s bookkeeping, the more he saw. Catholic private school was not cheap, and it was only getting worse. Sansa had hopes of going to a private college too, he knew. Further, they would not be able to afford such fine clothes anymore, and they would need to cut back on their lavish Sunday dinners.

“You’re worried about the money, and I can see why,” Jon whispered. His voice seemed loud even amongst the crowds milling about around them. “Think of the possibilities.”

“What about _The Hearth?”_

“Your mother knows how to run a restaurant, but she is not as business savvy as Uncle Ned. With your father dead and his debts piling up, you know that _The Hearth_ cannot sustain your family, no matter how friendly and comforting.”

 The hot soups and warm breads that reminded him so much of his mother had held more value in a world with legal liquor. Sure, there was a steady stream of customers, but there were slow months. Jon had been beside Robb as he studied the family checkbooks and bank accounts. Finances would be tight without extra income. They both knew that. All he could think about was the future of Arya and Bran and Rickon.

“Think of Sansa,” Jon said, and Robb could’ve killed him then. He was playing at Robb’s weaknesses, bringing up his favorite sister and her entirely uncertain future.

Robb spotted Sansa’s auburn hair, stark against the crowd of black dress attire. She was like a flame, flickering in the dark. She was crying still, with Margaery holding her. Part of him wished that she had cried to him that way, as she would’ve done when they were younger. But she was nearly grown now, and she had found her own support system amongst all her little friends. If they hadn’t grown so far apart, he wondered if he might’ve been more help to her.

When he told her of their father’s passing, she had just stood there, staring at him. She had started to speak and then she faltered, tears welling in her eyes as she turned away from him. She fled to her room and shut the door. He wanted to chase her, or just to knock at her door, but he could find nothing to propel him forward.

 _She’s too mature to cry in front of me now,_ Robb had thought.

 “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Business will be all about booze, and I think we should be ready to strike while the iron is hot.” Jon paused, looking toward Robert in the distance. ”Canada is just across the Detroit River, and there is Caribbean rum down south.”

“It isn’t just a matter of getting it, Jon. There must be someone to sell to. There must be some place to sell _from._ ”

Jon smiled and shook his head, like Robb had missed his point entirely. “And that’s why we need Robert Baratheon.”


	2. dust to dust

Sansa needed to get out of the house.

When Margaery invited her to dinner with her family, Sansa took her up on it immediately. The last thing she wanted to do was sit through another Sunday dinner with her own family, across from her mother and her red rimmed eyes, pretending everything was okay. Arya would scowl at everyone and Robb would hover, as he had since their father passed.

He seemed to be hovering even _more_ since the funeral, if it were even possible. He was trying to be their father – which he w _asn’t_ – and even worse, he was treating Sansa like a child.

Which she wasn’t.

Sansa had thought there might be some closure after they laid their father to rest, but if anything, the mood at home had seemed to worsen. Arya had shut herself up in her room immediately after they returned, ignoring even Jon when he knocked at her door. Sansa had scarcely seen her sister at all in the days since the funeral. When Sansa passed by the hallway, Jon was usually standing outside her room, speaking to Arya in a low voice through the door.

Sansa had tried to coax her little sister out a few times on her own, to no avail. She never even got a response.  She had at least hoped she might see her before dinner. She usually liked to help knead the dough for the homemade bread, but she had not helped in the kitchen since Ned had died.

Her mother, however, was cooking and baking more than ever. When she wasn’t in the restaurant kitchen, she was making small meals at home, and even without Arya’s assistance, she had taken on their massive Sunday feast all the same. She was quiet while she worked. Robb had been hanging around the kitchen all day, studying their mother. He had come to Sansa early in the afternoon and mentioned an increase in the flavor of his mother’s already delicious meals as of late, and she told him she suspected she was channeling all of her grief into her labor. She had been slaving away all day, finishing the rolls herself and never asking for help with anything else. She rarely looked away from her own hands, except to check on Bran who was trying to keep Rickon under control. Lately, he had taken to the wild destruction of most anything he could get his hands on.

Sansa had had enough of her family for the day by the time five o’clock in the evening rolled around. Between Arya’s silence, Robb’s brooding, and Rickon’s tantrums, the air in the house felt heavy. Sansa was suffocating.

Just as she was slinking out the door, a familiar voice called her name. Sansa winced, reluctantly turning to face Robb, who stood behind her. She wanted to avoid looking guilty and embarrassed, but she was certain she would anyway. He was acting like their father and in some ways, he was succeeding in filling Ned Stark’s shoes. Sansa didn’t want to upset Robb or disappoint him, but skipping one dinner wouldn’t do any harm.

In some ways, she missed the days when she had been closer with Robb. At least then she wouldn’t feel like she was letting him down. Her brother Robb would’ve understood her need to escape, but she wasn’t so sure about the Robb who was the man of the house. Everything was so different now.

Robb crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her with a raised brow. “Skipping Sunday dinner, are we?”

“Margaery is waiting for me,” she explained, looking up at him through dark lashes as she stood half in and half out of the doorway. She was in one of the new chemise dresses with the high hemline, exposing long pale legs, and wrapped up tight in a white, fur collared coat with a cloche hat. It was obvious she was headed somewhere, though she had planned to slip off with no explanation. “It’s just one dinner.”

“I’m afraid it’s to be the last for awhile, Sansa.”

She just stared at him. Her voice grew soft, her grip on the door loosening.  “What?”

“The money…” he began. He was like some storybook villain, ruining lives. He seemed to be everywhere, dragging her down, bringing bad news and then following her around, making sure he knew where she was at all times. She couldn’t even say why he was so worried. Her father hadn’t even hovered so much.

But she knew what he was going to say before he could even finish. Sansa stepped back inside and shut the door behind her, resting against it with a look of resigned acceptance on her face. “Have you told the rest of them yet?”

“I had planned to tell everyone after dinner.”

Sansa glanced down the hall, towards Arya’s room. “Has Arya come out?”

Robb shook his head. Sansa walked past him, long strides bringing her to Arya’s door, where she stood and knocked and waited. “Arya?”

There was the usual silence in response. Sansa pressed her ear to the door, wondering if Arya had crept out her window as she sometimes did.

“It’s almost time for dinner. And you haven’t had lunch.” She paused for a beat and waited. “Or breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Robb leapt at the sound of her voice and Sansa gave him an angry look, waving him away from her. She could do this herself. She didn’t need his help. Arya would listen to her before Robb, anyway. They were sisters. “I think you should eat anyway, especially if you plan to fight Lommy over your lunch money again.”

Robb gave Sansa a disapproving look. The last thing they needed was Sansa giving Arya any sort of encouragement when it came to fighting. It was unbecoming for a woman in the first place, but she knew Robb worried because their sister was so small. She was too little to be fighting so many boys. She was bound to keep losing the fights she picked, as she had been already. They were just as tough, but they were twice her size, and that made all the difference.

_She will grow out of her tomboyish ways_ , Robb had said. Sansa was not as sure.

She heard the lock on the door turning just as Jon appeared at the end of the hall, making his way toward them. “Any luck?”

Arya opened the door and pushed past them, headed for the kitchen. “I’m through with Lommy,” she said breezily. “I’m going to kill the neighbor boy next. He keeps making faces at me from his bedroom window.”

Sansa gave her brother a triumphant smile, watching as she passed by Jon and disappeared from sight.

“Neighbor boy?” Jon asked warily.

Robb shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. She’s not interested in boys. She’s only interested in knocking them out.”

They sat down to dinner in silence. Bran made attempts at conversation but Sansa seemed to be the only one responding. It was sad to see how far their family had fallen since Ned Stark’s death. Nothing seemed the same without him. They didn’t seem to fit together as well as they had before. Sadness seeped from all of them.

 Robb waited until the end of their silent dinner to broach the subject. He cleared his throat awkwardly and Sansa felt herself tense in preparation of what was to come. “We have to put a hold on Sunday dinner for awhile.”

The dining room was quieter than before. She heard Catelyn set down her silverware.

“Why?” Bran pressed.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Because we’re broke, stupid.”

Sansa pursed her lips. Her sister may have been a bit of a brute, but she was not dense. She looked at Robb, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked cool but she knew he felt like a poor excuse for a man, sitting at the head of the table in their father’s place, but possessing none of his know how. He was no substitute for Ned Stark.

All eyes were on him anyway.

“Everything is going to be fine. I’m going to make sure of it,” Robb assured. He met Sansa’s eyes across the table. “Things are going to have to change for now, but they’ll get better. There will be more money. I’m handling it.”

Bran’s voice is shaky. “What about _The Hearth?_ ”

Robb faltered and Jon jumped in. “It just isn’t enough right now, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

“We’ll just be cutting back some,” Sansa agreed. Maybe it would be better to hear it from her, rather than Robb and Jon who seemed less like a brother and a cousin and more like looming father figures. “Small changes to save money until things are more stable.”

She was only met with uncertain stares.

“Everything will be fine,” Catelyn said at last. She took Bran’s hand and patted him reassuringly. She even attempted a smile, ad it almost looked real.

“There is good news,” Robb said, straightening up in his chair. “Jon will be staying awhile, to help out.”

Sansa looked around again, thinking that at least _that_ news would be well received. But Rickon tossed a green bean at Robb, smacking him wetly right in the face. Jon tried to hold back his laughter but it burst forth all the same. Robb shot him a look and Arya came undone at that. Sansa just sat there, looking at Bran and his nervous tapping fingers, wondering if this was going to be their life for the foreseeable future. She felt lost in it all. Everything had shifted. Everything had changed. Robb had been her brother two weeks ago and now he was playing a father, and Jon had come all the way from Chicago to help hold their family together as everything was sorted out.

It seemed like so long ago that Sansa had followed Robb everywhere, looking up to him as a big brother and as an inspiration. She wanted to be as tall as Robb and just as strong. But then she grew older, and she began looking at Robb as a model for something else entirely. She never lacked for male attention and in every single one of them, she looked for hints of her big brother. She admired the traits she saw in him, and he was a good man. She wanted that in someone else. She wanted that for herself.

_Marry a man like your father,_ she had heard it said. _But what if I want someone like my brother?_

Sansa couldn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned but it was as if she couldn’t even bring her eyes to close. She paced her room as quietly as she could, biting her nails anxiously before finally deciding to sit up and read in the living room. She could lose herself in _This Side of Paradise,_ if only for awhile. Sansa was coming to appreciate the debut novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald, loving both the romance and sadness of it all. It seemed to have the right balance. Sansa had very little romantic experience herself, but what was romance without tragedy?

Unless you were Margaery. From everything the older girl told her, she was never truly bothered by the loss of any man. They were things to her. Life was a wonderful game and there was always an endless stream of men, waiting patiently to replace the previous lover.

Sansa wondered if it would be that way for her, when she finally met someone worth keeping around. She had flocks of _boys_ after her at school, but she wanted a man. Surely she would meet someone when she began attending college.

Her stomach flipped uncertainly. _If I’m to go to college at all._

 From the hallway, she could see that there were still lights on, despite having heard no movement anywhere in the house in over an hour.

_Someone is awake_ , she thought.

She found Robb sitting in their father’s chair, head in his hands and fingers twisted in his hair. She hung back in the corner of the room, in the shadowy light of the lamp, quiet and waiting. When he caught sight of her, he sat up, straightening out as though he hadn’t been sulking. She knew better. She knew that he knew that too. All the same, he continued his charade.

“I didn’t know you were up,” he said with a false lightness.

Of course he didn’t. She was never meant to see this. For some reason, that hurt her some. There had been vulnerability between them once, before she had grown tall enough to attract boys that she had hoped would one day substitute Robb. One day, maybe she could love someone as much as she loved him.“I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said after a long beat of silence.

Robb gave her a dry laugh. He sounded very old. “It shouldn’t be you comforting me.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Before he could find words, she was crossing the room and coming to sit at his feet. She put her hands on his knee and then her head in his lap, like she had done with their father when he was quiet and contemplative. She looked up at her brother from the corner of her eye, studying his face.

Robb put a hand in her hair and they might have been small again, playing house. He let out a long breath before he asked, “Are you worried?”

She held his gaze. She wondered if she should lie, but she thought better of it. He would know. He knew her too well. “Yes.”

She had always looked up to him, but it wasn’t the same as it had been. It was different now. He owed her something; her future was his. He had to do something for her and all of the rest of them. Even his mother needed him now, in a way she hadn’t before. It made her sad. Her brother had lost something, though she wasn’t sure what to call it. His innocence, maybe. His childhood.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, or to any of us.” His voice was fierce, as though he were sure of it when she knew that he wasn’t.

“I know.”

It was all she could say.

When she woke the next morning, she had no memory of leaving Robb alone or of returning to bed. She found herself tucked in tight, which hadn’t happened in years. _He must’ve put me to bed,_ she thought. It was curious how easy it was to slip back into old habits, and how it felt familiar though it hadn’t happened since she was very small. It was a very fatherly thing for Robb to do, though she was certain that no one expected Robb to start putting anyone to bed.

What wasn’t familiar, however, was the sound of something small and hard pelting her window every so often. Sansa pushed back her blankets and crawled to her knees, peering out the window in search of the source. The yard was empty, save for a man who looked about Robb’s age, all disheveled and covered in what looked like car grease. He looked like a real rag-a-muffin. He had a handful of something, occasionally dipping into his palm with his other hand to chuck something at the window beside her own.

Arya’s room.

Once it struck Arya’s window, it bounced right off and then smacked against Sansa’s before falling to the ground.

Sansa pulled on her robe and threw her door open, stomping over to Arya’s door before banging on her door with a fist. “Arya!”

“Pipe down!”

Sansa jiggled the handle, which was locked, as it always was. “Open the door!”

Sansa heard her sister mumbling from behind the door, but then it swung open to reveal a flushed Arya holding a carton of eggs, looking irritated. “What?”

“What are you doing? Who is that?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I _told_ you. The neighbor boy. Gendry, or something stupid like that, I think.”

“Why do you have eggs?”

“I was going to pelt him with them. It’ll make him lay off,” Arya explained. She tossed an egg in the air with one hand and caught it expertly as it fell back to her. “I’ll nail him right in the kisser.”

“You’re such a dumb dora. Eggs are too expensive to waste, you sap.” Sansa pushed into her room, going to the window and forcing it up and open. She leaned out in all of her pajama clad glory, studying Gendry. He was blue eyed with a thick mop of black hair, with a tall, leanly muscled frame. He could’ve been decent looking if he weren’t so greasy. “Hey! Some of us are trying to sleep around here, and you’re hitting my window! Scram!”

Gendry looked surprised, dropping his handful of rocks. “Hey, baby, I’m real sorry-”

Sansa laughed. “Don’t give me that.”

“I was after your sister, honest. She’s been giving me trouble for days-”

Sansa pulled herself back inside, slamming the window shut with all her might. She turned to Arya with a glare. “You said _he’s_ been giving _you_ trouble. What’s the real story, Arya? Level with me.”

“He started it!”

“You’re a mess,” Sansa sighed, cinching her robe tighter as she headed for the door. “Put those eggs back and keep your window _shut_ or I’ll tell Robb and Jon and you’ll be sorry.”

Arya made a disgruntled noise, throwing her head back and whining as she marched herself back to the kitchen to return the eggs to the fridge. “You ruin everything!”

Sansa went back to her room, but through the wall she could hear Jon laughing in the kitchen. “What are you doing with all those eggs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will also be told from both Robb and Sansa's point of views.

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt has been a beast to tackle, but it's my beast now. I was very intimidated by it and now I'm just obsessed. Here's the thing: I originally wrote most of this in my regular format: a one shot with lots of line breaks. But I think this has all the makings to be an actual multi chapter fic, which I've never done for Robb/Sansa. PLEASE leave me feedback, good or bad. If you love it, let me know. If you would rather have a one shot, LET ME KNOW. Please!


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